As in, “Fuck, fuck, fuck the po-lice”. 88 in a 50, sir? On the spot 90 euro fine and probably points to boot, although, the swines did comment on how nice my car was, and I ingeniously utilised babelfish via the laptop and 3G to get over the fact that neither me nor the gen d’arme spoke each others language. Go technology! Oh, and they were strapped, the crazy fuckers.
Baise, baise, baise le gen d’arme!